A Visit
by Ragged Claws
Summary: The Marquis Cavalcanti pays Eugénie a call. Andrea x Eugénie. A one shot.


Eugénie ran a hand across her cheek in disbelief, still feeling the sting from where her father had hit her only a few hours before. Making her way over to her bureau, she forced herself to inspect her face in the intricately framed mirror.

The mark was red, raw and very obvious.

Kneeling down and placing her hand over an elegantly wrought knob, she opened her bottom draw. Her small hands fumbled blindly within it until they found a bottle of concealer.

Make-up was something that Eugénie had always shied away from. She passed it off as having spent too many of her childhood years as a tomboy, reveling in the company of Albert and Franz. Or perhaps it was the perpetual distance between herself and her mother that was to blame.

The real reason though, was that Eugénie simply didn't need any.

But as nobody had ever dared to entertain her vanity for a prolonged period of time, due largely to her position in society and the isolated, restricted life that came with it, (and in Albert's case, his lack of experience and want for time in their awakened relationship – that she now dreaded had come to a close) this was only acknowledged silently within herself.

But he - yes he - who had only just before welcomed her into his guarding embrace – he had not hesitated to speak of her beauty. She felt gooseflesh form on her skin at the thought of him.

Whenever he was in her presence, the Marquis turned her stomach. It was not only because of his flamboyant display of wealth in the hopes of buying his way into society, nor his apparent lack of conscience.

It was something much more subtle. Something that had to do with the way he strode across the room, gaining a crowd's attention with a quiet, almost electric announcement; the trace of a smirk always playing upon his lips, even when he was freely serving out a dish of compliments; the way his eyes set themselves upon her own downcast ones, refusing to move until she had met their piercing glare.

Yes, it was his eyes most of all: the cool smugness that remained in them, as if he were amused by something that nobody else was aware of.

As he had held her in his arms she had found herself struggling not to succumb to his advances. She knew he was taking advantage of her vulnerability following her outward display of emotion. But with his body so close to hers, and the warm current of his breath on her neck, it was difficult to resist.

Even though he was now her fiancé, even though he had announced his undying affection for her, and even though Albert had left her, she could not help but harbour a lingering hope in her soul that Albert would come back and take her away from all of this.

The day that she and Albert had traveled to the countryside, and that he had asked her to run away with him seemed such a long time ago now, regardless of the fact that in reality little time had actually passed.

Eugénie started as a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"My dear," the Marquis' voice called, "forgive me if I have disturbed you, but may I ask for permission to enter your boudoir?"

Hastily shoving the bottle of concealer back into the draw, and (for some reason that escaped her immediate discernment), smoothing back her hair, she abruptly replied, "Yes, of course."

She settled herself down on the cushioned chair before her bureau and pretended to resume reading a letter. Without looking up, she noted that the Marquis locked the door firmly behind him after entering. With the grim realisation that he wished them to be alone in such an intimate place, she felt a discomfort deeper than he had ever caused before.

The Marquis took a place at her window without a word. There was a lengthy, awkward pause before Eugénie finally managed to ask, "What was it that you wanted, Marquis?"

She heard him swallow before saying, "We are to be married Eugénie, so may I ask once more that you do me the honour of calling me 'Andrea'?"

Eugénie resisted the urge to sigh.

"Yes...Andrea." she gingerly agreed.

The silent interval between them resumed. Eugénie felt herself become increasingly more uncomfortable with each second that ticked by in which he did not speak, refraining from answering her question and building a thick fog of tension between them.

She sensed that he was aware of this. The erect, imposing way he stood in her boudoir made her feel invaded. She was under the impression that this was intentional and that he took pleasure in it.

"Andrea," she said, breaking the silence, "if we are to be married, may I ask that you do _me_ the honour of answering my..."

"This Viscount," he cut in, "or I suppose as his nobility has now been proven to be a ruse, this _Albert_…"

He paused.

"What is it that you find so _fascinating_ about him?"

He turned to look at her, the same cruel amusement in his eyes.

She felt the dull ember of anger beginning to burn inside of her - before he had attempted to comfort her in heed of the situation, and now, she though with malice, he had the nerve to rebuke her about it.

"I don't expect you to understand," she began, straining to keep the rage out of her voice.

"But you will go on, won't you, my dear? Do tell me what you find attractive about that _little boy_. I am ever so curious to know."

Before Eugénie knew it, her patience had worn thin.

"Albert and I share a connection that is deeper than one that I could ever share with someone like you!" she spat, her whole form shaking.

Smiling malevolently, he pushed a lock of his golden hair back and remarked sarcastically, "So deep in fact, that you can feel each other's presence even now, when he is so far away in space."

Clenching her fists, she got up off the chair and began to make her way to the door – but he reached it before her.

"Now, now, Eugénie, let's play nicely, shall we?"

She shrank back as his form loomed over her, her heart beating in her chest and her lips quivering.

He stepped towards her and she found herself backing away, suddenly remembering that although he gave off the effeminate and dainty air of a dandy, he was in reality physically more powerful than her (and there was also the chance, she thought with foreboding, that he was mentally stronger than her as well).

He leant his face towards her own, and dreading that he would kiss her she tried to move away. Her fears proved correct, as she felt his hands grasp her firmly, and his lips lock her own into an urgent, violent kiss.

She felt her heart leap and struggled not to let the flames of her anger fuse with those of his passion. But it was difficult not to fall into his possession with the rapturous sensations he was opening up within her.

His lips began to travel down her neck and to her breast. Her breathing becoming rapid and constricted, she pulled away, staring at him with a combination of confusion and horror.

"I bet your _Albert_ has never made you feel like _that_ before?"

She began to protest but she felt the shock of pain as he pushed her to the floor.

Towering above her, he stepped over to her as she started to pull herself to her feet.

"You get away from me…" she murmured, as he took her arms in his hands and stood her up with ease.

"I didn't think so," he hissed, in answer to his own question.

Shuddering, Eugénie forced herself to focus on the rhythm of her own breathing, deciding as she felt the sting of tears that there was no point in resisting him. He was much too strong for her.

Deliberately, he stroked the side of her face where her father had hit her, his lips twitching as he watched her wince from the pain.

Then he kissed her again, this time more forcefully, pressing himself roughly against her and lowering her to the nearby bed. Distressed, she was unable to fight this time and found herself kissing him back, feeling the odd union of pleasure and abhorrence.

Ambivalent, she allowed him to move his lips to her breasts, moaning softly as their silky texture brought gooseflesh to her skin.

Suddenly a cautious rap at the door brought him to a stop.

"Marquis Cavalcanti," sounded the formal tone of a servant, "forgive my intrusion, but if you are present, Sir, the Baron Danglars would like to speak with you."

"Of course," answered the Marquis, as he picked himself off of Eugénie and brushed off his garments, "tell him that I will be with him in a moment. I am just consorting with Mademoiselle."

"Thank you, Sir."

The Marquis listened until he heard the servant's footsteps retreat and die away, before saying, "How unfortunate that I cannot continue to show you why you should prefer me rather than your _silly little Albert_."

He gave a mock sigh.

"But I suppose at least it prevents the chance of a scandal. Wouldn't want to be shamed like your little lover, I presume?"

Eugénie, remaining on the bed, avoided his eyes.

After he had left the room she felt not only a sense of relief, but of shame. Although he had forced her into kissing him, she felt as if she had betrayed Albert. Some part of her had enjoyed the experience, and she was therefore disgusted with herself.

Sweating, she got off the bed and walked to the window the Marquis had only stood at minutes before, hoping that a little fresh air would soothe her.

She dreaded the next time that she would be alone with him, knowing that it could not be too far away.


End file.
